Found
by KatyMM
Summary: Sam finds Dean and something else finds the Winchesters.
1. Chapter 1

Sequel to Find Me. ('Cos I couldn't bear to leave the poor guy there!)

* * *

Sam was frantic. How the hell was Dean abducted from a library? It defied belief!

Whatever, he had asked around - with extreme prejudice in one case – and got the location. Regardless of the sudden snowfall, he gunned the Impala til he got there.

Stumbling and sliding around on the uneven ground, he finally found his brother, curled up in the snow.

Sam knelt down and hoisted Dean's torso off the frozen ground. His brother's face was lightly dusted with ice, even his eyelashes were frosted. He hugged him tightly – willing heat into him.

"Dean come on. Please. Wake up."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N (1) Okay, this went a bit dark. I think it was always going to. (So much for 100 word drabbles!) *shakes fist at Twinchy and Phoebe*!

A/N (2) I really do have to thank Twinchy (and Twinny!) for help with "what to post and where?"

* * *

Dean shifted slightly. He tried to shrug off whatever was crushing him but he seemed to be trapped. Things were a bit fuzzy but he could have sworn he'd escaped.

Sam was relieved that Dean was moving, however feebly. He still needed to get him somewhere warm as soon as possible though. Hoping he would stay sufficiently out of it not to notice, he scooped his brother off the frozen ground and staggered back to the car with him. Breathing heavily under the strain, and with his breath billowing out in the frigid air, he got to the Impala and had to wedge Dean between himself and the side of the car so he could get the door open. Dean was like a rag doll – arms hanging, limp, at his side and head rolling on Sam's shoulder.

Having got his brother into the front passenger seat, Sam had thrown everything over Dean – an oily blanket from the trunk, his own jacket… well that _was _everything actually. But he got the engine going ready to crank up the heating as soon as it warmed up.

Meanwhile he did a quick inventory. Blood. There was a worrying amount of it on Dean's tee-shirt. He gently peeled the sticky shirt up and away but there was nothing there. No wounds of any kind. Dean's blood-soaked shirt wasn't, in fact, covered in Dean's blood. Okay, time to think about that later. He felt for Dean's pulse. Strong and steady. That was good. His head then. And there it was - a hard, round swelling on the back of Dean's head. So, a possible concussion

No problem. All in a day's work. He drove carefully back down the mountain. Dean's baby had a precious cargo on board.

"'m bru.."

"I know Dean. The heating is as high as it'll go."

"Na… I'm bruth …. bru… fffuck it!."

Dean's valiant attempt at communication fizzled out and he slumped back into unconsciousness.

Sam couldn't help but smile. Dean was okay – just a little bit cold and a little concussed. And probably a lot pissed. It could have been a hell of a lot worse though. He shook off that thought – _and _the pictures he had in his head of what had been planned for his brother. What he had done to find Dean though - there was no shaking _that_ off.

He pulled in right outside their room. He didn't want to stay in the town any longer than absolutely necessary, but getting Dean warm was his prime concern. And he was fully prepared to defend the room, and his brother, against anyone or anything that got in his way.

Dean had started up a rambling monologue the moment Sam roused him to get him into their room. "Sam! I'm…. I'm… glass.. haddahurt… an.. Sammy?... "

"What Dean?"

"Wh..? Sorry Sammy… uh.. I..uh somth…say…. Heyoodtotheeya…

He'd had to forcibly steer him away from the bed nearest the door. As always, Dean was not a good patient, but he finally bundled him under both bed's duvets. He wasn't planning on sleeping himself.

He sat facing the door – he had the Winchester arsenal ready.

"Sammy!"

"What Dean?"

"Bruce Willis!"

"Yep, okay. Whatever you say dude."

"Haddahurt…that… hadda…"

Then Sam knew. His stomach gave a convulsive lurch but he swallowed hard and lifted up the duvet covers so he could see the soles of Dean's feet.

Then he lost it. Threw up the nothing that was in his stomach.

As soon as the bile was out, and he had rinsed out his mouth, he took a towel and a pair of tweezers and, with tears scalding his cheeks, he sat at his brother's feet, and as gently as he could, picked out every last shard of glass of the "S" intricately embroidered on Dean's right sole.

Then he started on the "W" picked out on the right.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N Sorry folks for the confusion with the double posting! I'm keeping this one really short to make sure all is well.

* * *

After very carefully smoothing antiseptic onto the soles of Dean's feet and placing the duvet covers back, Sam sat back down in the chair. He was trembling.

The sadistic bastards did this to Dean just to goad him. And he knew they would have gone further if he hadn't found his brother - and if Dean hadn't managed to fight them off. And how _had _Dean done that anyway? The answer to that would have to wait til Dean slept his way out of action hero land.

Unfortunately, that left Sam with an awful lot of time to think.

The guy had grinned maliciously at him when he asked where they had taken Dean. Then he'd spat in Sam's face and laughed.

"Oh, he'll be all over the place by now! Literally ALL OVER the place!"

Sam didn't want to. He really didn't. He didn't want to kill the guy after finally getting the location out of him. He was possessed of course, but Sam didn't try to exorcise him – that evil laughter had been silenced permanently with Ruby's knife. There was no time to do an exorcism. He had to get to Dean before they killed him. Yes. That was it - it was to save Dean. It wasn't vengeance or doing the right thing… or …oh God… was he turning? Was this it – the start? Were they using Dean to push him over the edge?

He glanced over at his sleeping, concussed, brutalised brother. Despite everything, Dean looked peaceful. He was completely out of it – no nightmares. Maybe he was wearing a bat cape or waving a light sabre, or saving a damsel in distress somewhere in his dreams, but Dean was tranquil in his sleep – able to relax, because Sam was okay.

Only Sam wasn't okay. Sam was freaking out – quietly of course. He might be turning evil, but he wasn't about to wake his brother.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N I'm really not having much luck loading this story. I'm pretty sure it's cursed or possessed or something. I can only apologise yet again for the double and triple postings that keep appearing. Hopefully this one loads okay.

* * *

Sam woke in a panic. A noise had startled him out of his fitful sleep – not that he'd gone to bed. He must, finally, have fallen asleep in the chair, head on the table. Now, instantly alert, he quickly scanned the room, eyes then coming to rest on Dean – who was staring straight at him, with a slightly quizzical look on his face.

"Somethin' wrong Sam?"

"You're awake. How'd you feel?"

"I'm toasty Sam – what's the deal with the duvet mountain here?"

"The deal is that if you're stupid enough to go to sleep in the snow, you get a duvet mountain to stop you dying from hypothermia."

Dean frowned – he couldn't remember anything about snow, much less falling asleep in it.

"You don't remember?"

"Uh, no. Seems not."

"Well, what _can_ you remember?"

"I was at the library…"

"Who else was there?"

"Nobody – well except for the girl at the desk – very nice."

"Never mind about the girl Dean! Who took you?"

"Dude – anyone ever tell you what a grouch you are in the morning?"

"Look in the mirror Dean – now come on – what happened?"

"Well could you at least get some coffee on the go?"

Sam got up – it was a rare occasion when there were basic coffee-making facilities in the room.

"Keep talking."

Dean struggled up to a semi-seated position in the bed and pulled off both duvets. Noticing he was still fully clothed except for shoes and socks, he was half way to swinging his legs onto the floor when Sam leapt across the room and shoved them back on the bed.

"What the hell?"

"Sorry Dean. But you really don't want to be standing up right now."

"I don't? Why not?"

"Well, you know, concussion – makes you dizzy. You should rest."

"Sam, I've had concussion plenty of times. I feel okay… considering."

Sam was sitting on the bed - more or less blocking Dean from getting out of it.

"C'mon Sammy – let me up – I need the bathroom."

Sam slumped in resignation.

"Okay, but I'll need to bandage your feet first."

"My feet? What's wrong with them?"

"Uh, well I guess you must have trodden on some gravel and stuff when you went for your walk in the snow – got some stuck in your feet."

Sam wasn't sure why he didn't tell Dean about the initials cut into his soles. Maybe later, when they had figured out what was going on. Meanwhile he left the bed and went to pick up the first aid kit from the table. As he turned, he was confronted with the sight of Dean contorting on the bed, trying to look at the sole of his right foot.

"Dude, there's an M on my foot."

Dean shifted and pulled his left leg up behind him.

"And an S on my other foot! S and M – that's some kinky shit Sam."

"It's not an M."

"What?"

"You're looking at it upside down."

Realisation dawned.

"I have your initials carved into my feet?"

"Well, not exactly carved… sort of studded really."

"Oh well _excuse _me! The point is, how did they get there – and why are you giving me some bull about walking in gravel?"

"I'm sorry Dean."

"What are you sorry for? You didn't do it."

"No, but I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the letters. Someone must be trying to get to me through you."

Dean said nothing for a moment.

"Sam, can you get on with the bandaging – I really need the bathroom."

Sam quickly and efficiently wrapped gauze and an Ace bandage around each foot.

Dean finally got to put his feet on the floor – very gingerly. As he stood and put his full weight on them, the pain nearly had him falling back on the bed, but Sam was there instantly with an arm under his shoulders.

They walked slowly to the bathroom.

"You know Sam, you've always been a giant pain in the ass, but now you're just getting under my feet."

"Not funny Dean."

Dean was clinging to the bathroom door handle now and waiting for Sam to back out so he could close it.

"I can manage from here."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, don't need an audience."

"Okay, but yell if you need me."

As soon as he had the door closed, Dean sank onto the toilet seat. He was trying to keep things light in front of Sam, but this whole thing was freaking him out. Being kidnapped from a library was embarrassing enough, but having his brother's initials cut into his feet was somehow just humiliating. Not that he could remember anything about it.

Of course, there was also that whole other thing. But he was pretty sure he must have imagined the glowing little green man.


	5. Chapter 5

"Dean! You okay?"

"Dude – give a guy some space already!"

"Sorry."

Dean levered himself over to the side of the bath and sat on the edge while he lifted the toilet seat cover. Standing painfully, he relieved himself and flushed the toilet.

Catching sight of himself in the mirror above the washbasin, he noticed the state of his tee shirt. Formerly freshly crumpled out of his duffel, but basically white; it was now crusted and stained mostly brown. He lifted it up to see where he had been bleeding from.

Apparently nowhere.

Dean lurched out of the bathroom – oblivious to the pain of his feet.

"Sam!"

Sam ran over and grabbed him. Dean looked ready to collapse or maybe hurl. He wasn't entirely sure, but he manoeuvred him to the nearest bed, where Dean sat heavily before clutching at Sam's face.

"Sam – where are you hurt?"

"What? I'm not hurt Dean."

"You must be – look at all this blood! Don't lie to me! Where are you hurt?"

Dean looked haunted – desperate.

Sam gently removed Dean's hands from either side of his face and knelt in front of him, holding each of Dean's forearms.

"Dean, I'm fine. No injuries. That blood – it's not mine."

Dean turned the slightest shade of green.

Sam grabbed the waste basket.

Dean hurled.

When he was done, Sam put the waste basket aside.

"Better?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Dean looked up, quickly scanning his brother for any tell-tale signs of injuries. Seeing none, he slumped back onto the pillows on Sam's bed.

"Sammy."

"Yeah?"

"What's goin' on?"

"Wish I knew."

Dean was falling asleep. Sam sorely wanted to get that tee-shirt off him and get him cleaned up, but decided sleep was more important. He picked up one of the duvets Dean had discarded from the other bed earlier and placed it as gently as he could over his brother.

Slipping on his jacket, and snagging his cell from the pocket, Sam ducked out of the room.

***

"What now Sam?"

Sam was strangely pleased at the abrupt non-greeting. He quickly filled Bobby in.

"You're on your own Sam."

"Wha… " Sam stared at his cell in utter shock.

And redialled.

"You're through to Singer's Auto. Please leave a message. We'll get right back to you."

Sam felt sick. Why would Bobby, of all people, disown him? Worse. Why would Bobby disown Dean? They were like father and son.

Father and son.

Sam sagged against the wall.

Father and son.

Where did he fit in?

John and Dean Winchester.

Hunters.

And Sam.

The problem. Look after him or kill him. Didn't that mean _control _him or kill him?

"I'm not bad!" He shouted, to the black, starlit night.

But the stars, they didn't have a thing to say to him. So he went back inside to his vandalised brother

Dean had an aura about him.

A green aura. It enveloped the whole bed.

"shit" Sam whispered.

Dean slept.

"GO AWAY!

Sam was blown backwards off his feet.

He scrambled back up, ready to defend Dean. But he didn't know what to defend his brother against.

"LEAVE HIM!"

Sam ran towards Dean, only to be bounced back by what appeared to be a force field.

And then he saw him…well… it… a little green man...in the corner…. glowing.


End file.
